Fever
by Alex Marr
Summary: Damian get's ill and Bruce is there to take care of him... Just think that Batman Inc 8 never happened...


Damian Wayne wasn't having a good day, well a good night to say the least. It started with a simple mugging. Some "hot" shot stealing a woman's fake Louis Vuitton bag. It all seemed normal at first. Capture the bad guy, return the goods and drop the guy off the roof a few times before tossing him to the police. Like normal for uneventful nights. But this criminal had done something different, something that was so sneeringly disgusting, it made Damian react. The bastard had sneezed in "his" face. Now Damian knew why Drake was such a germaphobe.

Batman had to fight the smile that was growing under the cowl. No, he wasn't amused by the criminal sneezing in his sons face, it was his son's reaction that was humorous. The shock and total disgust he had seen before on Red Robin's own face when presented with "this" same issue, with missions past. Like he had done with Red Robin, he'd pass a cleaning tissue to Robin, in hopes that whatever the criminal had had, wasn't going to be passed on to the younger boy.

The night didn't seem to get better after that. Somehow Killer Croc got out, but surprisingly wasn't causing too much trouble at the moment. Upon the confrontation Batman and Robin had, the father and son duo ended up waist deep (shoulder deep for Robin) in a swamp. Killer Croc had gotten away, making his way out of Gotham City. Batman had decided for now, was a time to go home. He vaguely recalled asking Robin if he would liked to be carried, as the swamp water was deep and cold. Robin scoffed, saying he wasn't a child, before slipping under the water at the occasional drop of the swamp floor. Once again, it took Bruce all his might not to bust up laughing, he did smile a cheeky smile though. He reached down and pulled his son up from the deep, who had his arms crossed in anger and his lips pulled into an un-amused frown. Bruce could have sworn he heard Dick saying how Damian looked like a wet kitten begging to go home. Batman placed Robin on his shoulder and trekked a mile back to where they left the Batmobile. Bruce didn't mind the small warmth on his shoulders, nor his son's constant complaining. Over all, it was an amusing day.

The morning on the other hand…

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Alfred Pennyworth stood at Damian's bed side, placing a hand on the youth's head and pulling out the thermometer reading 103. Damian's flushed face was that of both the fever and his anger of being sick. Bruce walked in with a hot mug of chicken broth, an all knowing smile on his face. He placed the cup on the bedside table and took a seat in the empty chair.

"So what's the verdict, Alfred?"

"39.44 Master Bruce. I do say, Master Damian should be on the mend for at least a few weeks." Both men glanced over at the child, who crossed his arms, fuming at the said "verdict".

"Preposterous. I've never been ill. I'm a Wayne for crying out loud."

Bruce watched how his youngest son's face changed from angry to ready to puke. Bruce grabbed the puke bucket and placed it before Damian. With his free hand, Bruce rubbed the back of his son's neck. Damian tried all his might, but the contents of last night's dinner came up with no mercy. Alfred has poured Damian a glass of water and passed it to the boy, so he could wash his mouth out of the bile after taste.

Damian's blue eyes, had tear drop's forming. He hated puking, even more so it made him look weak and feel miserable. Alfred took the bucket and vanished, leaving the father and son alone for the moment. Bruce kissed his son's forehead, leaning him back down to the bed.

"I can take care of myself father."

"Sure you can…"

"Tt…"

Damian relaxed. The shot Pennyworth had given him were starting to take effect now. His eye lids felt heavy and his body felt like jelly. Bruce grabbed a wet cloth and placed it on Damian's burning head. The young boy glanced away, not sure of what to say. Bruce wasn't either, he really didn't know what to say.

If it was Dick, the two would tell each other stories and their dreams. He would stay until he fell asleep and came back every hour to check on him. Being there for him when called.

If it was Jason, all was needed was to lie down in bed and let the boy sleep away. The nightmares that would normally plague the boy always seemingly vanished with Bruce by his side, so he would stay and not move, even if his arm had fallen asleep due to the awkward position.

If it was Tim, Bruce would just give the boy a new book by the hour and have a discussion on it. The boy didn't like the physical contact as much as the others two, but at the times when Tim wasn't worried about "being Red Robin", he'd be Tim and let Bruce rest a hand on his head.

For Damian, it was a whole new experience. He could see even now, that Damian was fighting the medication to sleep. Bruce sighed heavily, before getting up from his seat and taking his place on the boy's bed. Damian looked at his father like he was the one who was ill.

"What are you doing?"

"Making sure you get the rest you need."

"I don't need to be cuddled."

Bruce rolled his eyes at that. The thought crossed his mind at that action, when did he start rolling his eyes, was it when the whole family got together and Bruce picked it up from his sons? At least he hadn't picked up Jason's face palm technique yet for the stupidity in some people. Bruce sighed heavily, feeling Damian tense. He really wanted the boy to relax more, he wouldn't let anything happen to him.

Damian wondered what was wrong with his father. The actions he was taking would endanger him of getting sick too. His father picked him up like he was a feather and simply placed him down on his chest. If Damian wasn't already red in the face from the fever, he'd be blushing mad about how strange it was for him to be "this" close to his father. This open.  
Bruce wrapped his strong arms around the boy, placing the boy's head over his chest, over his own heart. Damian lie in silence, his head resting on his father's beating chest. The rhythmic heartbeat, lulling him to a deep sleep. Bruce smiled, happy that his son was now relaxed and liked how he responded to this action. Bruce looked up at the ceiling, remembering his own father had done the same for him when he was ill. Somewhere along the process of caring for his son, Bruce himself had fallen asleep.

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Upon Alfred's return, his momentary shock subsided to a silent glee. He quietly made his way back outside the room, to grab a camera that he always had on hand for moments like this. Alfred took one picture, to capture the moment as he had captured numerous times with Bruce and his older sons. Alfred lowered the camera and hoped for many more pictures like this one. Where their defensives were down and all that remained were true smiles and a family love. Alfred took one last look at the two, his son, his grandson, before closing the door behind him. For Alfred, all was right with the world for a father and son was together after all.


End file.
